


thicker than water

by justacitygirlbornandraisedinwhoops



Category: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain, Adventures of Tom Sawyer - Mark Twain, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn & Related Fandoms
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 19:57:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19047307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justacitygirlbornandraisedinwhoops/pseuds/justacitygirlbornandraisedinwhoops
Summary: “You got worse after your mam died. That I’m certain of.”





	thicker than water

**Author's Note:**

> A short fill for a prompt on the kink meme. It was for a quiet moment between Huck and Pap while they were living in the cabin together.
> 
> oh yes there is a kink meme for the fandom now: https://twainkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/526.html
> 
> Enjooooy.

“You used t’listen to me better.”

It’s afternoon, and the Missourian heat has fallen over the river like a thick shroud. Huck wipes the sweat from his brow and looks back at his father, sitting on the opposite side of the skiff and facing out towards the waters, anywhere but Huck.

He blinks, once, twice, and asks, “What?”

“Open your ears,” the man bristles, not all that harshly, and gives a curt, though somewhat acknowledging nod in Huck’s direction. “I said, you used t’listen to me better, when you was a youngin. Younger than you are now, least. Don’t know what in God’s name happened to you. A boy grows some and suddenly gets the gumption to go about like he owns the place and disrespect his own pap when he ain’t done nothing but raise him the best he could. Things ain’t the way they used to be when I was growing up. My old man—he learned _me_ well if I even thought of mouthing off to him.”

Huck doesn’t know what to make of the response, not immediately. He shifts his makeshift pole from one hand to the other and clasps the corncob pipe between his teeth just a little tighter. He stoops forward, bends his head low and unknowingly mimics his father, looking out towards the river; same spread of the knees and hunch of the shoulders, same tip of the hat, brim hanging low over his face. The same stench of tobacco clings heavy to both of their ragged clothes.

He wants to say that he can’t exactly recall suddenly growing disobedient towards his father the way the man claims he had, but he knows better. Knows saying the words aloud are much more trouble than they’re worth.

“You got worse after your mam died. That I’m certain of.”

The words lodge themselves deep beneath Huck’s skin like a barb, and he’s not entirely sure why, except for the fact that it feels just _wrong_ to bring up his mother at all around Pap, much less have her be revisited by Pap himself.

“Did I.” The way he says the words sounds more like a statement than a question. There is no spite in his voice, only numb resignation.

“You _did_ ,” Pap spits, as if Huck is challenging him.

Silence settles over the river then, save for the soft patter of the water gently hitting the sides of the skiff. It is not heavy or bitter or uncomfortable. Silence seems to suit them best somehow; it is best for some things, most things between them, to be left unsaid.

“Tell me now or don’t come crying to me about it when you ain’t got none left. I’m going to town soon. You running out of tobacco?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright then.”

“Thank you, sir.”


End file.
